


I Will Make Him A Help Meet For Him

by chappedlipsfingertips



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-06 05:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15188129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chappedlipsfingertips/pseuds/chappedlipsfingertips
Summary: Following the Season 2 arc of Eden, from Nick's perspective.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for 2.5 "Seeds", 2.6 "First Blood" and 2.12 "Postpartum".

_A fire devoureth before them; and behind them a flame burneth: the land is as the garden of Eden before them, and behind them a desolate wilderness; yea, and nothing shall escape them. Joel 2:3_

 

* * *

 

The sound of her body hitting the ground echoed loudly this time as Nick realized his limbs didn't have the same dexterity as they had before. He tried to hurry — this time, he knew exactly what — who — waited for him behind the gate, but he felt as if he were running on sand.

He could hear his mother in the distance, calling him and his brother to come in from the shore for dinner. It had been a surprise — ice cream, mint chocolate chip with whipped cream and cherries and those little rainbow sprinkles. He looked down at his feet, expecting to see the crystal clear waters of Lake Huron, but instead, he saw his black boots and the dirt and the leaves, and Waterford cradling June, the blood bright red, saturating everything around them.

He watched Fred, _of all fucking people_ , pull June's head to his chest, but this time, her skin was too pale. He watched her gray lips part and he reached for her, seeing in his peripherals that despite not having touched her, his hands were dripping with the same bright red that was spreading all over her too quickly for her to ever live.

 

* * *

 

Nick awoke with a start, still trying to get a bearing on his surroundings when he felt the dampness of the sheets around him. For a second, he clawed at them blindly, expecting rip them off a miscarrying June, but as his vision came into focus, he registered the smell -- a distant memory of childhood shame.

 _Fuck, really?_ He hadn't done that since he was a kid. A little one at that, probably the same weekend they'd spent at Lake Huron and Josh had to be the one to wake up Mom and Dad to tell them what he'd done.

The second Nick remembered again where he was, he felt Eden stir in the bed beside him. Nick lifted the sheets carefully, and the feeling he had when he realized she was the source of the wet sheets wasn't quite the relief he'd expected.

In quiet horror, Nick extracted himself from the bed. He peeled off the pajama pants he'd worn to bed for the first time since frigid winter, and dropped them away from himself. He couldn't even register the disgust quite yet of wearing someone else's urine, but he knew that'd come soon enough.

He was in bed with a child bride. A newly fifteen-year-old child bride. A first-year high schooler who still wet the bed.

 _Shit_ , he felt creepy. He felt a shiver go up his spine as he watched her stretch back out. He waited a moment for her to register what had happened in her sleep, but instead, he watched her fall back into her slumber.

And that made him feel all the creepier.

"Eden," he said, his voice crackly and trembling. He cleared his throat. "Eden," he said a bit louder.

He diverted his glance as soon as she started to move. He heard the bed sheets rustle a bit, and the smallest of whimpers leave her mouth.

If she had been anyone else, if it'd been June, he would have jumped to comfort her. But Nick couldn't do anything but stare at the floorboards as he waited for Eden to overcome her shame and be the first to speak.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry," she finally squeaked out, and Nick could tell she was only moments from crying.

"It's okay," he choked out, rubbing his nose to try and clear out the ammonia smell. It was the overwhelming proof that this girl wasn't old enough to ever give the consent she'd hinted towards before bed, when Nick returned from driving June and the Waterfords to the hospital a few hours prior.

"I didn't think —" He could hear the floor creak, and Nick brought his glance up to the girl, tears running down her cheeks.

"It's okay," he started. "I —" He caught himself, realizing that he was about to say he had wet the bed at some point when he was a kid, too. In Gilead, this girl was a child-bearing wife. In Michigan, Nick would have been put in handcuffs real fucking quick.

"I'm not mad," he said finally. He glanced at her up and down, taking note of the wet nightgown, the tears, and decided he needed her to get out of the room before how juvenile she looked made him have a nervous breakdown.

"Why don't you clean up? I'll soak the sheets and you can pass me your clothes through the bathroom door?"

Nick gestured in the right direction, realizing Eden probably knew the way in his tiny little studio above the garage. He just needed to expedite the process.

He heaved out the breath he'd been holding once the bathroom door shut behind Eden. Nick ran his hands through his hair and then made quick of pulling the bedding off. He stared at the wet spot on the mattress and then grabbed vinegar from under his sink to spray on it. He grimaced.

He pulled open one of his drawers and slid his trademark black pants on, suddenly in relief that he was no longer in his underwear near the girl. He hadn't even processed that he'd taken his pants off until he was digging to get a new pair.

By the time he turned around, Eden's wet clothing was in a pile on the ground. Nick carefully used his pointer finger and thumb to grab it, knowing that he wasn't necessarily trying to avoid the wet spots, but more so the parts of the clothes that had touched _her_.

The shower was running and Nick made use of the time by ambling over to the house, into the laundry room that only he and Rita ever used. Soaking the laundry in one of the large bins, Nick rested against the wall for a moment, trying to overcome the dread he felt in the pit of his stomach.

Upon coming outside, he looked up at June’s window, which was dark save for the street light reflection. Nick closed his eyes and tried to will her light to turn on, but opened his eyes to nothing. It was funny how that room could haunt him. It came in his dreams sometimes with Rita's screaming echoing on every inch and the other girl’s cold skin that he should have known would never produce a pulse. And sometimes it came with June, her blue eyes, flushed cheeks and throaty whisper.

He watched for another moment, picturing June curled up on her arm asleep like she always did in their post-coital naps. He felt something in his chest give way — as if hearts could literally sink — and then he reluctantly started the trek back up the stairs to his apartment.

When Nick came back, Eden was freshly dressed, thank God, and awkwardly standing in the middle of the room. He said nothing, but went to the cupboard to pull out a fresh set of blankets, which he handed over to her.

"The wet spot needs a while to dry. You can sleep on my side of the bed and I'll sleep in the car tonight."

He watched Eden as her face pinched into something pained, and he glanced away again.

"I'm sorry," she choked out.

"I know," he told her, grabbing a blanket to take out with him to the car. Part of him was relieved he'd gotten an out from sleeping next to her for the rest of the night. The other part in utter disbelief that this was his reality now.

Once Nick shut himself in the car, he gripped the steering wheel, surprised that his knuckles were white. He had barely had enough time to register the fact that June had been soaked in that much blood earlier that evening. He pulled his hands away from the wheel and flipped on the light in the car to examine them. Despite having scrubbed at them until they felt raw at the hospital, her blood was still caked under his nails.

He felt his throat constrict, and he hurried to switch off the lights again, as if the darkness would help him forget.

Instead, a strangled cry came out.

Nick rested his head against the wheel and sobbed. For June. For the baby. _Their baby_.

 

* * *

 

He smelled the turkey in the oven -- familiar and delicious, his grandmother's recipe passed down. He'd learned it when he was small one Thanksgiving and had never been able to forget. Spice rub. Slow roast. Six hours.

Her little body was warm in his arms, and he stared down at her open eyes, a dark blue that seemed to change every day.

_Oh, life could be a dream, if only all my precious plans would come true, if you would let me spend my whole life lovin' you, life could be a dream sweetheart._

Nick always had a love for older music, but it was when Holly, named after her grandmother, came along, that all he wanted to do was sway and sing to the music with her.

June had mentioned her mom at the Boston Globe. Mentioned how she’d always known what was going to happen.

Holly gave Nick a smile, showing her gums, when he dipped her to the music, and he cuddled her to his chest, as if his heart might explode.

He could hear their two sweet voices coming from the kitchen.

"Mash the potatoes like this, honey," she said. He could hear a clatter.

"Okay, closer," she said again, with a giggle.

Nick smiled, pressing a kiss into the baby's hair.

"Let's go see what Mommy and your sister are up to," he told her, leaving the music-filled living room to find the kitchen in shambles.

June looked up at him, an exasperated smile as Hannah kept her back to him, mixing away.

Holly gurgled and June walked over, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“Hi sweetie,” she cooed at Holly, who smiled again. Nick handed the baby to June, who kissed her softly and then brought her over to watch Hannah mash the potatoes.

Nick stood back and watched the three of them, overcome until June looked at him, mischievous. She crooked her finger and then said to the girl still mixing intently, "Hannah, I think Nick wants to learn your mixing technique."

He let out a laugh so loud he immediately knew it was in his imagination.

 

* * *

 

He knew the potatoes Eden made were some form of a truce. Even though Mrs. Waterford had taken a liking, or perhaps a pity, on Eden, Nick knew that Eden must have had to really make herself look more upset than he could imagine to get herbs from the Commander's Wife. Either it was a truce on Eden's part, or Serena was trying to up the ante that she and Fred had presented him by turning Eden into the perfect underaged wife. _Sick fucks_.

Nick took a drag from his cigarette, trying to forget Eden mentioning her mother's recipe. He couldn’t fathom her mother comfortably sending her off to get married at this age. At fifteen, Nick and his mother used to argue over his curfew. Mom would hold out just long enough to make Nick think she finally wasn't going to give in, and then she'd lift her eyebrow in the way that she always did because he was the youngest and therefore her favorite.

Nick couldn’t think of his mother in the present. He knew deep down she was dead — the pain of Joshua’s drinking habit turning into heroin had practically eaten her alive before everything went to shit. He knew she couldn’t have taken any of the new alternatives — the colonies, econo-wives, whatever they did with women in their late fifties — for long. He knew she was gone. He decided to take comfort in it, because otherwise the grief for her would make him hang himself from his own light fixture.

He wonders if June knew what came of her parents. Did she have any siblings? He realized he’d never asked.

It was when Eden offered up these bits of knowledge that Nick wanted to quiet her most. He didn’t want to know these things. Facts about people who assimilated into Gilead didn’t matter to him. He wanted the personal bits about how June ordered her coffee or what color her favorite underwear were or what her childhood pets’ names were. Eden and her biblical bullshit life that just so happened to merge well with Gilead didn’t matter. Nick felt as if he were married to one of the kids in that giant Christian family that had their own show.

They all probably barely realized anything changed.

 

* * *

 

“She’s your wife,” June told him as she left the room.

“June,” he called after her louder than he’d ever done in the manor though it was barely above a whisper. She immediately stopped in her tracks. He waited for her to turn around, but she stayed still.

"She's a child," he croaked.

He watched June curl her fingers around the back of the chair nearest to her.

"I know," she started, but Nick cut him off.

"She still wets the bed sometimes." He hadn't quite planned on telling June this, and he almost regretted it as soon as he said it. It was a secret he should have kept for Eden's sake, but at the same time, he needed June to know exactly what was preventing him from consummating his fake marriage.

June turned to look at him, and he watched her pale a bit.

"Nick," she started, and he had to look down at the ground, afraid for what she was going to say next.

"You have to. The baby and I need you." He watched the floor until he saw the red dress in his peripherals. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. He knew she could see him start to tremble.

"You aren't them," she told him and he could hear that her voice was thick with tears. "They're doing this to fuck with you and it's terrible, but you'll never be one of them."

_Fuck._

He didn't think he was going to cry right there, but Nick felt his shoulders shake and his eyelids give way to tears.

June's hand went to his shoulder briefly. Nick tried to not focus on the fact that all he wanted was to bring her up to his apartment and cry with her. He knew Eden was there, cooking dinner that she'd painstakingly put together with the hopes of finally pleasing him.

"Nick, you have to."

Then the stairs creaked, and June squeezed his shoulder.

Nick wiped at his face and hurried out of the door before Serena caught him, red-faced and blotchy.

 

* * *

 

Everything about Gilead made him slightly nauseous. Nick knew his coffee and cigarette habits certainly weren't helping, but he was much skinnier than he used to be. Ever since he cut the other girl's body down, Nick couldn't eat before ceremonies, and nearly every conversation he overheard between commanders flipped his stomach like the spinning rides Joshua used to drag him on when his family would go to Cedar Point as a little kid.

He managed to stay numb when he finally started the prayer with Eden. His mouth was so dry, he felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth with every word of a religion he'd grown to hate.

He didn't register much until she'd finally fell asleep. He remembered her saying that they'd have to keep trying, and he realized that maybe he shot himself in the foot by faking an orgasm earlier.

Eden was asleep next to him, her hair no longer splayed out like it was when it was happening.

He couldn't assign a name to it, or associate it with anything close to what happened with June in this bed most nights before Eden's arrival.

But then, the image of June staring up at the ceiling while Serena stood watch in the corner stuck in his head. He'd done this to June, too.

The normal nausea of Gilead crossed the comfort threshold, and Nick scrambled out of bed just as he did the night before. Only this time, his hand was clamped over his mouth.

He shut himself in the bathroom with no lock on the door, and leaned over the toilet in the cramped space. He silently prayed to a God (who was something other than the one who he and Eden had prayed to earlier) that he'd be quiet enough to not wake her.

There was no such luck.

The first set of heaves were a shock to the system — so powerful he could barely catch his breath between them, while his entire body convulsed. And yet, he didn’t feel much.

She tapped on the door and it opened against him as his body went into repetitive, but more manageable, heaving. He opened his mouth to protest and instead let out another loud gag.

“Are you okay?” she asked timidly.

Nick wiped at the tears that had run down his cheeks from the burning in his throat and managed to nod. He spasmed a few more times and could see Eden flinch each time he gagged into the bowl out of the corner of his eye.

"You don't have to watch me," he told her, and was relieved when Eden slunk away. He didn't blame her — Nick typically didn't have the stomach to watch someone else get sick, with the exception of June the time she did it in the Waterford's kitchen sink and the other time the morning sickness got the best of her at the Boston Globe.

Nick stayed in the bathroom until his feet started to fall asleep. He stood up clumsily and walked in place to remedy the tingling in his toes while he brushed his teeth.

Eden was sitting up in bed when he returned. Nick started talking before Eden could ask any questions.

"I get sick every time Rita cooks fish,” he told Eden, who watched him wide-eyed. “I never ate fish before I came here.” Nick swallowed, focusing not only on his stomach but keeping his voice from wavering during the lie. “I figured maybe it was just the way she cooks it, but I guess not.”

Eden watched him for another minute as Nick swallowed down the urge to heave again at the thought of food.

“I’ll never cook it again,” she said resolutely.

Nick would have forced a smile had he not felt so terrible. Eden patted the space on the bed that was empty, but Nick shook his head.

“I need fresh air,” he croaked out.

Nick was outside before Eden could protest. He sat on the steps and put his head in his hands to quell the nausea. He looked up to June’s window, and for a second he thought he was dreaming because she was sitting in it, looking to him. He watched her lift a hand to him and he raised one to her, only for a moment before the nausea kicked in again.

Nick stood, leaned over the railing, and let June watch him get sick onto the plants below. It was only a few moments before he could stand again, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He looked up to the window again and June wasn't there. He couldn't blame her.

He just wanted her to know for certain that he wasn't Fred.

 

* * *

 

Nick awoke the next morning to an empty bed. It was Saturday, so his duties with the Commander were more on-call than his typical weekday routine, but Nick had definitely slept in. He rubbed his face, trying to get his vision to focus so he could read his watch.

Nick had still been crashing on his parents' couch between jobs the last time he slept in this late.

He opened the back door to the Waterford manor ten minutes later, worried he'd missed some sort of assignment. In the kitchen, Rita and Eden were washing dishes, presumably from breakfast. As Nick stepped into the kitchen, Serena did from the hallway. He braced himself for a lecture.

"Nick," Serena said kindly, which caused him to stop in his tracks. Rita and Eden looked up at him, and all three faces read with their own unique forms of concern. He gripped onto the countertop for additional support, a dizziness setting in quickly.

"Eden said you'd gotten sick a few times last night. We told her to not wake you," Serena said. "Are you feeling better?"

Nick nodded slowly.

"If you need more rest, I'm sure we can manage without you today."

"I'll be okay," he said. "I'll check in with the Commander to see what the schedule is."

Serena nodded at him with a smile that somehow gave Nick a chill. On his way down the hall, he ran into June as she made her way down the stairs for her daily shopping trip.

"Are you okay?" she whispered.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he gave her a single nod.

She watched him carefully for a moment, and then finished descending the stairs to close the gap between them. She brushed her fingers against his and laced them together.

"I love you too," she told him, her whisper shaky and caught in her throat.

He made eye contact with her and watched hers fill with tears. He squeezed her hand as she pulled away to keep Ofglen from waiting.

Nick took a composing breath. Part of him was overjoyed to hear what she'd only ever said to him in his sleep, but _shit._

He turned on his heel, pulled at his tie to straighten it, and then knocked on the Commander's door. He glanced down the hall one more time, where June was leaving the kitchen, now holding her tokens. He held the gaze with her until Fred answered the door.

"Ah, Nick. I'm glad you're good as new," Fred told him.

_Good fucking joke._


	2. Chapter 2

As he drove blindly through the streets of Gilead, trying to watch his speed so as to not cause any suspicion, all Nick could think about was how bad he wanted to be the one to find them. His palms were sweating so hard he feared that if he had to jerk the wheel to avoid something, he might lose his grip on the wheel.

Nick's constant fears while June had been hiding at the Globe had come to fruition as soon as Fred had said Isaac never came to posting that morning. Nick had to turn to June not in need of confirmation of his own dismal thoughts, but to make sure that she was in the home, that they weren't tracking her down for her trial.

He wonders how June avoided all of this. Fred knew the whole time she'd run away. Nick was certain.

His mind flashed to Fred and the way he'd watched June at Jezebel's. The way he put his hand on the small of her back, unlike with the other girl.

It turned his stomach to think about, but deep down, Nick knew that June had gotten to live because Fred fantasized about her.

 _Eden_. Right, Eden. Eden didn't have Fred. Isaac sure as shit wasn't going to get her out of this situation either, as a lowly Guardian. Nick was all she had.

They could do something, right? Nick tried to shake the feeling he'd woken up with as soon as he realized Eden wasn't in bed, wasn't in the apartment, and wasn't in the Waterford's kitchen with Rita and June.

 _Focus_. Nick watched a stop sign blow by in his peripherals. Eden and Isaac couldn't have gotten far. It had to be easier than Nick was making it. As far as he was aware, Isaac wasn't part of Mayday, so he couldn't have gotten them anywhere that Nick had stowed away June.

He tried to think of when he fell asleep, to get an idea of how long of a head start the two could have gotten. How far that translated on foot.

He barely noticed the paging on the walkie, signaling they'd been found.

 

* * *

 

The first time Joshua served jail time, Nick was seventeen years old. Josh was twenty-one. He should have been away at school, holed away with his friends in the library finishing up his junior year of college. Instead, he'd been caught while strung out on heroin, breaking into a closed gas station at four in the morning, completely alone.

Nick's father had been adamant about Nick not seeing Josh in jail.

"Mom," he pled in the kitchen, a few hours before they were set to go visit his brother. "I just want to make sure he's okay."

His mother started to cry, and Nick felt horribly guilty. Enough that he left the room and shut himself in the basement to play Call of Duty and try to forget how broken she looked until they came home later.

It had been his father who came to get him so he could come along, wordless, but with a nod that said everything it needed to.

They'd been paged into multiple doors, walked through a metal detector, and been escorted by multiple guards to where they sat, on the other side of the glass waiting for his brother.

Thinking back on it, Nick remembered only his mother sniffling next to him, and Joshua's red-rimmed and sunken eyes.

 

* * *

 

At the Red Center, the pool was behind multiple sets of locked doors requiring different key rings. The Aunts kept the girls far removed from the darkest of punishments until they were hardened enough. Indoctrinated enough. Numb enough.

Nick's knees shook so hard he thought they might give way as another Eye led him through the dimly lit hallway, now only used as the path for those on death row. He took note of the dust collecting along the line where the ceiling met the wall.

There was no use maintaining the facade back here.

An armed Guardian stood post at the door still marked "Women". The Eye with him announced, "Mrs. Blaine's husband," and Nick had to stare at his feet. He hoped that the men interpreted it as shame for having an unfaithful wife rather than the soul-wrenching guilt he felt.

He watched the other man's feet step to the side.

The Eye next to him, a man he recognized only slightly put a hand on his shoulder.

"You can have five minutes."

Nick had to be the one to push the door open, the one to find Eden sitting stock-still on the same style benches he recognized from gym class as a kid. His locker when he was on the lacrosse team was always in the same corner from freshman year to his junior year, when he quit the team to make more time for his family.

His buddy Mike used to nudge him when they were removing their helmets and say something about the cheerleaders who were undressing in the locker room next to theirs. He'd always entertain the thought for only a moment before focusing on getting home as soon as he could.

It fucking figured this was the first time he was allowed to live out the locker room fantasy, in the most nightmarish of circumstances.

"Eden," he exhaled, relieved to see she still had all of her limbs, all ten of her fingers laced together on her lap.

She looked up at him, stoic, with the same red-rimmed eyes Josh had. Nick stopped dead in his tracks. He drummed his toes in his shoes to remind himself that he wasn't back at the state jail where his brother had been held.

"I'm sorry," she told him. Nick waited, expecting her to start crying, but she didn't. He took a few more steps towards her. He tried to focus on something other than how red the lockers were.

"Where did you go?" he finally managed to ask. She stared at her clasped hands for a moment before returning her gaze to him.

"I'm not exactly sure."

Nick nodded. Eden was still new to the area, barely had left the house except for the rare trip to Loaves and Fishes. Of course she didn't know.

"What time did you leave?"

"Before sunrise."

Nick wanted to focus on the details. The how, the where, the when. He wanted to think about logistics and how they'd get her out.

"I tried to find you first," he told her, though he hadn't expected those words to leave his mouth. He had been trying to formulate another question when the words slipped by.

Eden's brown furrowed, and for the first time, Nick saw her eyes glisten a bit.

He cleared his throat, and turned his glance to the end of the bench she was sitting on.

"I didn't want anyone to hurt you. I'm not mad."

He closed his eyes and Josh came into focus for a split second. He shook his head and opened his eyes again, this time focusing on Eden's face.

"We can get you out."

She shook her head.

 

* * *

 

Nick watched Eden's face as she stood on the diving platform and tried to memorize her features. No matter how much he wanted her to lie, to turn in Isaac, he knew it wasn't going to happen and that this would be the last time he'd see her.

Everyone was already furious enough at how long it'd taken to find June. How she'd gotten to be spared because by the time they yanked her out of the plane, her belly had the tell-tale slight swell. They were going to make an example out of Eden, and it was Nick's fault in every damn way you looked at it.

He closed his eyes for a second, and prayed to whatever God there was that Isaac would speak up and spare her. Nick knew that if the tables had been turned, if (or even perhaps when), the Eyes figured out that Nick was the one who'd helped June escape, that he would have said anything to save her.

But nothing happened. Nick opened his eyes again and when he looked to Eden, as she started in on Corinthians, he saw the face of the girl before June. He saw the determination, the longing for death instead of submission. He saw the girl step off the footboard of the bed, the noose pull taught, her feet kick for only a moment before going limp.

The only screaming he could hear was Rita's, amplified until it was deafening.

 

* * *

 

Four days before he was set to leave for Boston to work for the Sons of Jacob, Nick had heard a crash in the bathroom next to him, the one he still shared with his brother, despite both of them being in their twenties.

He'd already been up, worried about leaving his mother indefinitely to deal with all of this on her own. The emotional shit was hard. Watching Josh waste away, Dad's work injury that ended in him getting laid off, the two men crumbling in their own ways and Nick and his mom having to stay afloat for all four of them.

But the money stuff was starting to get harder. Nick couldn't hold a job and his mom was putting in more hours waiting tables and shit was bad. They were behind on every bill, and more money would help pay for Dad's physical therapy and Josh's rehab one day.

Nick stood in the hallway and let his eyes adjust to the bright light that was filtering into the hallway from behind the door.

He tapped on the door with his knuckles, hoping Josh just drunk and had maybe stumbled or something.

No answer.

Nick tapped on the door again, a bit harder this time. He counted to five slowly, staring at the ceiling, and then turned the doorknob.

He'd started yelling for his mother before he'd even made it to his brother, laying in an unconscious heap, choking on his own vomit.

 

* * *

 

It was four in the morning. Nick had watched the clock count up, minute by minute for however long it'd been since June had offered her hand to him and he'd left instead of talking.

How was he supposed to be able to say anything?

Nick stretched out on the bed, but wanted to take it back as soon as he did. Eden was supposed to be asleep next to him. Instead, he'd watched until the divers retrieved her body from the pool, unhooking the chain from the kettle bell. Nick tried to memorize which one was hers.

He knew he'd have to avoid the wall for the next few days. He never went to the wall anyways. But now Eden would be hanging there with a bag over her head, anonymous to anyone who hadn't watched her plunge to her death, watched the bubbles underwater as she presumably struggled with the last of her energy, watched the water still to reveal an image of her floating, distorted by the ripples.

Nick stood and paced the apartment floor for a moment, realizing that so much of it had been decorated by Eden. She'd asked him his favorite color and he hadn't even hardly responded.

He fished for cigarettes from his jacket pocket absentmindedly, his brain replaying her face as she tried to get his input on the color scheme.

He lit his cigarette carefully, watching the flame flicker in the breeze. He took his first drag and stared up at June's window, comforted by the darkness.

Holly's bedroom light was on, and from Nick's perspective he could see someone pacing the floor with her. Knowing Serena and her need for beauty sleep, it was probably Rita who was consoling his daughter. But there was the possibility it wasn't.

Every stolen glance Nick had taken of the baby since she arrived, pink and blue-eyed and showing wisps of his dark hair, was fearful. He knew he was on shaky ground with the Waterfords — though keeping June hidden when he was yanked away by the guardians had helped.

He took another drag and squinted his eyes, trying to decipher who was comforting the baby, but it was no use.

He made a mental note in the morning at breakfast — _Fuck, four hours from now?_ — to ask Rita if she had been the one feeding Holly. If she was the one who regularly fed the baby at night.

All he wanted was to hold her.

If he thought about it enough, he might cry.

Nick was close to finishing his cigarette, so his eyes rested on the Waterford's bedroom window. How fucked was it that they didn't bother taking care of the baby at night? He'd barely seen Fred hold her, maybe twice.

As if to spite himself, Nick's thoughts traveled back to the Red Center. He'd glanced over at the Commander while the whole room screamed and Fred had stared at the pool stoically. Nothing. Serena had at least sobbed, one hand over her mouth, one hand protectively on the baby.

Fred hadn't done a damn thing.

If it had been Holly — Nichole — on the diving platform, Nick wasn't even sure Fred's reaction would have differed.

Nick stubbed his cigarette out.

 

* * *

 

The baby was crying.

She was surprisingly loud considering how little her lungs were, but she hadn't gotten to that point yet. In a minute, once she'd woken up completely, she'd be loud, but Nick had another few moments before she was wailing.

It was only a step from their bed to her bassinet, and Nick had her in his arms rocking and shushing her in the blink of an eye.

June's groan made him smile.

"Is she hungry?"

Nick tilted his head to get a view of Holly's face, which, while pinched, seemed to be calming a bit.

"I think she's okay," he said. "Right, sweetie?"

He smiled against the baby's hair before kissing her, knowing June was smiling to herself because of the high-pitched voice he used with the baby.

"Let me know if she changes her mind," June said, her enunciation trailing off as she fell back asleep.

After changing the baby in what would eventually be her nursery once she outgrew waking up every few hours, Nick rocked her as he brought her back to the bedroom where June was sleeping, stretched out across the bed.

"It's just you and me, Holly," Nick whispered against her head. Her small eyelids were heavy, and Nick knew that in just a few minutes she'd be asleep and he could crawl back into bed with June.

"Daddy loves you," he told her, soft and gentle. The baby looked up at him, and then closed her eyes again.

 

* * *

 

June was picking at toast when he came into the kitchen. Before he could acknowledge her, Rita turned to him. Her eyes sported dark bags, the typical mischievous light in them gone.

"Good morning," she said, handing him a mug of coffee.

He accepted the coffee wordlessly, but once he had a good grip on the handle, lifted the mug up briefly towards her before taking his first sip.

Rita pushed a plate of toast towards him on the counter.

"I doubt anyone will be hungry this morning," she said, nudging the plate closer.

Nick nodded.

"Thanks," he told her, and she looked down.

The baby's wailing suddenly came through the floor.

Nick watched June's and Rita's necks snap towards the sound, and he bit into his toast in hopes that it would cure the sinking feeling in his stomach.

When that didn't work, Nick lifted the plate of toast and turned on his heel, but not before choking out another thank you as the toast made his mouth stick together. He hurried out of the house to escape the crying and the two concerned women who couldn't do a damn thing to help unless given express permission.

He let himself out onto the patio and balanced the plate on the fencing. It had rained at some point in the few hours of fitful sleep he'd managed to get, and Nick ran his finger along the leftover rain drops on the metal. He'd always enjoyed the pace of rainy mornings back in Michigan. Even here, things moved a little slower. The Commander would want to set out after the rain cleared, deliveries would be delayed, Rita would make coffee.

Nick closed his eyes and took the deepest breath he could, considering how tight his chest was.

It was weird, knowing there'd be no funeral for Eden. Every other death Nick had experienced in his family before had come with the preparation of a burial. He'd always hated the dread of knowing that he'd have to confront the loss a few days later head-on, but now that it wasn't going to happen, he longed for it.

As Nick forced himself to take another bite of toast to prevent the coffee from giving him heartburn, the door opened behind him.

Since it was starting to mist again, Nick knew it wasn't Fred asking him to get the car ready for anything.

Nick stared down at his plate until June's hands came into view, curling around the fence. He looked over to her, as she stared straight forward, blinking back tears that he could already see forming.  
  
The silence hung between them only for a few moments.

"God, that was fucked up," June said shakily. She lifted a hand to brush away a tear trail on her cheek. She shook her head. "I'm really sorry," she offered, making eye contact with him for the first time since it happened.

He nodded his head, overcome with emotion.

"Yeah, me too," he told her, stumbling over the cracking in his voice.

Nick braced himself for the inevitable declaration that none of this was his fault. That it was the Waterfords who did this in the first place for giving Nick a wife. That Eden and Isaac made a conscious decision that Nick wasn't a part of.

He didn't want to hear any of it.

"I was up really early this morning," June said instead, and Nick quickly returned his glance to her, his brow furrowed in surprise. "And I just kept thinking that could have been me — us — up there yesterday. And how the only reason we weren't up there was because of Holly. Or at least, the only reason I haven't been strapped to a kettle bell yet is because of Holly."

"I wouldn't — you wouldn't have been up there alone," Nick managed.

June nodded, and stared at her fingers, wrapped tightly around the fencing.

"It just isn't fucking fair. It doesn't make sense."

Another few moments passed before June spoke again. Nick filled the silence with a sip of coffee in the meantime, a desperate effort to wake himself up from the nightmare that had been the past twenty-four hours.

"She let me feed her," June said, and Nick felt a pull in his chest.

"Holly?"

"Yeah. Serena was really shaken last night," June said, releasing her grip on the fence and stretching her fingers out. "And I asked if she was okay and she let me feed her."

For a fleeting moment, Nick felt jealousy that he hadn't held the baby yet, but it was replaced just as quickly with relief.

"Did she eat okay?"

June nodded, teary again.

"She did great."

Nick took another sip of coffee and swallowed it slowly.

"I don't want her here any longer," he said, looking to June and waiting for her to meet his glance. She returned it slowly.

"Me neither," she said.

"I wasn't kidding when I said we should run away."

"I know."

"Give me a week. I'll have it figured out in a week." He watched her turn away again.

"I don't care what happens to me," he told her. "I'm getting the two of you out."

June grabbed his arm, tightly, suddenly. She brought her gaze to him, tears running down her face. He felt himself crying, too, as he thought of how he wanted more than anything to hold Holly even just once and to see her grow up, but that he'd give that all away in a second if it meant guaranteeing she grew up outside of Gilead. June pulsed her grip on him as if to say that she didn't want anything to happen to him. But he knew that she was aware of what would be on the line, and that Holly was more important.

"I love you," she told him.

He closed his eyes for a moment and memorized the way those words made every hair on his body stand upright. That if it came down to it, if he were standing on the diving platform and forced to confess his sins, he'd think of her eyes, and the baby's pink skin.

"I love you too."


End file.
